


Boy-lita

by PresumptuousPal



Category: Homestuck, MSPaintAdventures
Genre: Lolita, M/M, Shota
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-26
Updated: 2014-07-01
Packaged: 2017-12-03 16:01:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/700044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PresumptuousPal/pseuds/PresumptuousPal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bro likes little boys. One little boy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

                 It wasn’t a strong obsession, not at first. He’d just never seen something so perfect in so long. He never had yearned for a soft brush as he did now. Not since he’d glanced into the deep red eyes of his little brother on a sunny day he’d taken him to sit on the roof. The sun glared indirectly at his midget, perfectly proportioned for his size, in all actuality, exposing the softest hints of freckles and the barely honey-tanned hue of his skin. He’d never for an instance felt so entirely and devotedly in awe of beauty before. He couldn’t move his eyes and he took it all in rather quickly, refusing to break his wit he only gave his younger brother a smirk and made it a point to keep his sunglasses on even as the sun went down, (so he could continue looking at his brother without him knowing.) It became a habit he’d yet to break, but he made no physical advancements in spite of his new-found protection.  He hated that. That pervy feeling he got while around his brother. It was obscene. He had all the opportunities to make flitty, and pervy advances but he retrained due to the circumstances. No, he couldn’t do that. But he watched in dying yearning for years. Only watched. Hid in attics, shafts, anything. Slowly, with age, his brother was still beautiful but his shoulders began to slouch, his eyes almost slit in uninterest, and he’d rarely yelp and holler with enthusiasm. He’d smile of course but something was different in him. One unmatched, still. He’d love his brother forever and continue to punk with him but he felt a lot safer watching.

                Broderick Strider was fairly wealthy, his music interest carried through life very well, coupled with his interest in the strangely interested entrepreneurship. The dough was coming in very nice. His problems were not women, or men, but he’d rarely found interest in them and all their rough edges, even his brother was starting to develop strong callouses and dry hands, lips, elbows. His brother was awfully dry. His interests were silly, which he deemed to be ironic so as to carry on his vendetta against stereotype. Thankfully his brother picked up the whole ironic thing without needing too much prodding. Broderick didn’t have any problems. None beyond the surface fact of his quench for the unspoken youth he found to alluring in young men. Not babies, good god, but without his shades he’d be caught numerous times taking too many glances at the children playing in the park. Tag. Hide-and-seek. Once a young specimen hid behind his seat on a bench. He could almost feel the hot breath touching the back of his neck incredibly lightly from where the young boy crouched and hid in the warmth, apparently, because there was nothing, really, to conceal him except—well, the older man’s body. But he had _almost_ felt it. He was sure it was all a hallucination. He’d still gotten up briskly and pulled his younger brother away from a group of kids he was just getting friendly with. He was sorry. He swore he’d never got to another park again. He’d let his brother play with his katanas on the roof. It would be good for his self-defense too.  At around twelve and a half, he made sure to keep track, his brother had become very much similar to himself. He wore shades that concealed his eyes at all times  and  his pale blond hair had begun to show little tuffs and hints of glisten gold that were surprisingly charming on his not-quite-angular face. His ears had grown a little big but they suited him in an almost childish way.  He’d begun puberty. How did it happen to fast? It was almost dreadful but he was also incredibly proud. His little bro would be growing into a man. He stifled a sigh while watching him walk past, the younger boy only taking a glance in his direction. The little boy was becoming a big man. The sweet skin and soft curves would be gone forever. He almost refused to come out of one of the piles of his hand-sewn puppets ever again. It felt so heart retching. His lil’Dave would soon just be his Dave.

                Eventually, his brother brought a friend home, the one who’d given him the glasses that were now glued to his face. Bro had absolutely no problem. Dave was thirteen now. It’d only been half a year since Bro had said goodbye to the last reminiscent of lovely little Dave but it’d been enough to sprout a growth spurt and angular feel to his features. He wasn’t too worried about the friends he’d bring home either. Perhaps that’s where he made the tragic mistake. He didn’t think too carefully about the possibilities. He didn’t equate the chance of his brother bringing home a beautiful boy-child an almost opposite of his brother’s new body and persona. The shiver that went through his soul upon first glance at the midnight haired, fair skinned boy was one he’d never expected to feel in his lifetime. The pounding in his heart almost leaped into his throat and he had to be sure he could still breath by closing his eyes and looking away for a second.  Which he regretted almost instantly. He never got to see the face the young boy made upon being introduced. Bro muttered a “Hey,” keeping it as smooth and as calm as he could.

 The boy’s voice had a hint, a longing of a low tone but it wasn’t quite there yet. It could almost break if strained to deepen too soon, it seemed. It was fairly up-beat and was spoken with courtesy, and maybe enthusiasm, he was not too sure, “Hello!” A small smile revealed two bucked-teeth after the greeting. The loveliest bucked-teeth he’d ever seen. The greatest smile. The most porcelain looking skin he could ever imagine.

He nodded at the boy and kept his eyes trained on him while he and his brother walked into another room one-hundred light years away. He watched the soft curve of his behind and made sure not to forget it, although it was concealed behind khaki cargo shirts he was certain he could imagine its warmth and smoothness. It was a pervy thought he made little effort to wipe away. That was him. That was his lil’Dave. The one he’d only caught a glimpse of on the roof one-hundred summers ago. Only It wasn’t lil’Dave. It was John. It was his lil’Johnny. He’d caught the unguarded, tender purity; he caught its strong whiff that lasted longer than just a moment. It wasn’t only in a moment, with this boy. It was in _him_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Strider is thinking, now.

As the door shut he made sure to silence the fast breaths that seemed to be already coming out. The door shut and that same capricious feeling in his heart and head decided to leech out into the waking world. He calmed himself, quickly and abruptly. The pattering of his heart only rattling up a little before he’d come up with a plan, instead of locked in surprise any longer. Now, his thoughts, he could not very well say he was in love with this boy but the term love at first sight bore into his head. He had to know this boy. He had to at least take a feel at that wonderfully fluffed softness of his hair to make sure he was real instead of some make-believe thing in his own mind. Bro closed his eyes and leaned back on to the futon, the awe hovered and he began to rationalize what he was doing. He could not very well just touch the young boy gently in the way his mind and soul were yelping for. No, he could not. He’d surely go on and blabber to his parents or friends immediately, even innocently, and perhaps shamefully about the whole occurrence. He certainly would not do it quickly due to his confusion with the matter. He of course would do it in a way that seemed so accidental and coincidental that the younger boy would not even know exactly how to put it. He could hurt the boy, somehow, a little, and rush to his side to help him. Sitting him on the toilet and rolling his shorts above his knee to examine the freshly oozing cut, the blood pulling from where it resided in its little vein so uneagerly from the, now, pinkish skin surrounding it. A bandage would be found immediately, and he’d make sure to wash the cut carefully, the slender calf resting out in front of him quirking a little when he touched the Wounded Knee but no noise would be made from the boy save a little “uh” when he pressed the anti-infection wipe too hard. He tried not to do that too often. Tried. He murmured small, almost truthful, “sorries” occasionally when he did. He would always say it was okay after but that only made Bro want to do it more. He would take the bandage and put it on the wound rather quickly so that john could hop off the toilet and thank him. Dave would be at the door way watching the whole thing constantly interrupting the little exchange of small sounds with sarcastic input about how John apparently wasn’t a baby anymore and could do it himself. It was more aimed to Bro than to John. But John would laugh and little and rub the comment away with “My Mom does this all the time.” And he’d shrug. He seemed like a Mommy’s boy, but he also seemed like a little devil. He was polite, anyway. Bro’d pat him on the back when he was done and lead him and his brother out of the bathroom with a hand placed on the small of their backs, he’d make his touch with john a little too gentle and a little too low before he finally parted with their clothed skin and shut the bathroom door so he could refrain from touching John any more. 

Oh, if that could happen he would be entirely gracious to heaven and hell alike. But for now he had to think. Practically, of course. He sat and started for the television screen, watching the crisp movements of those on the screen absentmindedly. The volume was kept low so he could hear anything, anything at all from his brother’s bedroom. Only soft, barely audible thuds made by socked feet that he guessed were John’s. His brother had a light foot so that only left one option. Only missteps granted to him every so often allowed him to guess at what they were doing. On the computer. A quiet, almost distant, beat interrupted by a scratch told him they were at Dave’s turntables. He listened to his brother’s music before it stopped and there were no more missteps, or bumps to tell Bro where they were and what they were doing. A bump against the nearby wall made his breath catch and a worry burst into his mind. Were they on the bed? What would they be doing there? They weren't—no, no. They couldn't be. He need not worry so much. He did not know why he did not just sneak to the door and listen. He knew it was something he just couldn't do. He couldn't risk getting caught, though he was entirely doubtful, sure, even, he would not. It was not long, but it felt like a lifetime before his Brother came out with his friend and escorted him out to get picked up by his Father, apparently. The boy turned and smiled a toothy smile at the door, a wave and a vibrant “good-bye!” followed by his brother’s “I’ll be right back.” before the door was shut and both the boys were gone.

He had to see him again, he had been provided with all the opportunity to become …well acquainted. He could easily touch him in the apartment, so easily have his way in the covers of the apartment walls. No one was there to tell. No one was there to see. His brother could tell but he wouldn't let his brother see. He’d work that problem out when he came to it. John! How could something so beautiful be created so young! How could a little man child be built in such soft beauty resembling that of a girl’s with only gradual hints of curves of masculinity? His perfection radiated and Bro resisted his hand’s movement to his trousers when the thought of him sitting back in his apartment, maybe even in his lap, arose a churning in his loins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is really short and i refuse to re-read what i write because then i freak out and itll take me weeks to post anything.  
> typos/grammar/spelling


	3. Chapter 3

He hadn’t particularly noticed when his brother got back in until a thought veered its way quickly into his mind and he shot his head around to look at the still, smaller, form by the door. A disgustingly prodding smirk had made its way to his face, all false because he wasn’t feeling anything but distracted by that boy-child and all he did. “So is that your boyfriend?” His voice sounded sarcastic more than teasing. Ah…a mistake. He didn’t fret over it.   
The boy before him shifted his weight as he turned from the door and to his older brother. 

“No, that’s just John. I already explained this to you. “  
Relief. Relief. Relief. His brother could be lying but he highly doubted that with the annoyance typed into his voice. So he took offense to the sarcastic tone, after all.   
“Right. Cool.” He turned back to the screen, “Forgot.” 

“Yeah.”

He didn’t forget, he could never forget what a moment that was. What a life this was. So graced by that boy-child’s life he would never ever, in the entirety of the word, forget that boy. He gave his brother a thumbs up without looking at him and grabbed the remote so as to have something to do but push the questions deeper. He felt he’d push too far.   
He heard Dave’s room door click and guessed he’d gone already. The boy had to come back soon. He had to make sure of it. And he would. He’d do all in his power to. So many options to pick from. All difficult and suspicious, sure. He could give Dave permission to have a party. Throw John’s name up in the air casually, but not without a false second to “remember” his name, as a possible guest. So backhandedly smooth Dave would suspect nothing! Dave’s birthday wouldn’t be for months but Bro’d excuse it for early planning. A small foot-patter, almost too kiddish (not to mention shudder inducing, like that of a small child’s socked-feet pattering quietly on polished wood floor, his heart almost stopped at the sound!) sounded in the hall, his brother had come out of his room and was headed straight for him. His tall, angular, body not matching at all the innocent sound he made. It reminded him too much of something. 

“Hey, bro. Can John sleep over this Friday?”

To count the amount of times his heart bet in that one second would be to count the stars. The gracious heavens, or perhaps, hell had granted him an opportunity he was too unprepared to receive.

“Sure.”

A small exchange might have occurred but his mind was in hysterics through the whole thing, admittingly handling himself very well. 

As soon as Friday arrived he’d planned what he could of the night out. His brother and the boy would sleep in Dave’s room. They’d probably be up most of the night watching a movie or something of the like and they’d sleep on the futon while Bro would wait for this in his room. He’d sneak into the living room and pick John up carefully, taking him into Dave’s room. If the boy stirred or awoke he’d plea of innocently trying to move him and his brother into the room so they’d be more comfortable. He’d claim it as “an old habit.” And the young boy would be a little stunned into silence, his closed fists rubbing his eyelids, his glasses somehow misplaced. Then he’d—oh, he was being too unrealistic. He’d come up with no fool-proof plan. How could he? He hadn’t even familiarized himself with the boy’s personality he couldn’t tell what he’d do. He’d certainly be satisfied with just seeing the soft, awe inducing features of the boy again but he needed a long-term plan. Needed being the operative. It was something his waking mind couldn’t begin to comprehend but it was something so close to air, this boy, John, was.   
The wait for his Brother and John lasted beyond lifetimes. Meanwhile, he changed his clothing, gotten rid of a stubble that was beginning to form around his chin and smoked a few too many cigarettes out the window in a fit of nerves. He’d never really gotten into smoking but he had to preoccupy himself before he could overthink the whole situation and getting drunk was certainly no option.   
He busied himself around the kitchen so he’d be in close view of John when the two boys came in, pushing some weapons lying around into cupboards and drawers. He heard a click at the door and his brother walked in, alone. Bro fought the question for about a minute, still moving around in the kitchen, “Where’s your friend?”  
Dave barely turned, staring at something on the T.V. 

“Oh, he’s coming up with his Dad right now.”

A shock went through bro’s heart, stopping it in a quake of fear.   
“What? Why?” He laughed a little while saying the last word, in a more questioning tone than anything. It was all the acting he could muster to cover the fear that began to drench him.

Dave’s mouth opened a little as he turned, before he said anything.   
“I told you his Dad wanted to meet you. You said Okay. Do you not remember this or…?”

Bro contorted his face a little as if meaning to say “Duh.” He rolled his eyes behind his shades, although he was a little doubtful his brother even noticed, “Yeah, I do. I just didn’t think you were really serious about that.” 

“Well I was, so don’t make it seem like you run a hazard zone daycare because I’m pretty sure his dad’ll change his mind about letting him stay.”

“Calm down. I won’t. Why didn’t his Mom come, anyway? I thought it was a babying maternal bond or something.” Bro said it gently, without much questioning in his voice. At least the boy’s Mom would be easier to deal with.

“Because he doesn’t have one.”

The knock at the door was politely firm and Dave stared at it, waiting for him to answer it. Right. He took a quick stride over and opened it, a soft pattering in his heart beginning as he saw his little John again. Small teeth rested on his lower lip, protruding slightly, their resting place looking so soft and inviting. He broke the moment’s awe and looked at this boy’s Father. He didn’t have a wife, then. He was a lonely dark-haired older man, not bad looking, with a young boy to raise on his own. He found his long-term plan.


	4. Chapter 4

It was a possibly vile plan. Deceiving and wrong in every way. But how could he really help himself in such a case as this? Were it any other case he would have thought it were such an evil and maniacal plan. He would have hated himself for even thinking it. But the boy’s father looked like an older, wearied, manlier version of him and he could make do, for the time being. He couldn’t be sure that the man would be susceptible to his undeniable charm, but he had to hope. A small smile made its way to lips and he held out a hand to shake the father’s.   
“Hello.”  
“Hello, I take it you’re Dave’s brother. I just wanted to meet you and see if you need anything for the boy’s sleepover to-night?”  
That voice made him shudder. It’s deep, friendly vibrato reminded him of the potential John’s voice had. It sickened him, almost. He would grow up dashingly handsome and his innocence and softness would be lost in a brutish roughness like his father. Like…himself, maybe. He’d have to move quickly, and stay friendly.   
“Oh, nah. Come in, have some coffee.” He almost felt Dave’s questioning glare before he heard John give a little “Bye, Dad” followed by a “Bye, son” and the two little fawns escaped to the security of another room.   
He wasn’t one for inviting people over very often; in fact he wasn’t really one for people. He kept to himself aside from when he had to. His attempt at friendliness and concerned parent had successfully come across and the father sat down at the kitchen table. It was mostly idle chatter about their respective jobs and John’s allergies. Peanuts! Of all things he could be ended with, a nut, no less. The conversation sewed itself up only after a cup of coffee, but Bro had managed to get himself in good with John’s father within that time. Impressed him enough, came off as responsible enough (he was glad he’d stuffed the weapons into the cupboards). If he was anything it was definitely responsible. As much as he could be, whenever he could be. He’d earned a few chuckles from the man and their numbers were exchanged, for obvious reasons. Mr. Egbert had given him a pat on the shoulder before he left. Honestly, he hadn’t paid too much attention to what they were talking about because of the distraction in the other room that seemed to be calling him silently. But he was sure getting close to John’s father would take more work, and definitely more time.   
With the door now locked and the force keeping him from his little love gone he could move. How would he do it? He couldn’t just do it now. Sneaking a stroke for one moment compared to sneaking a fantasy for a longer period of time (the span wasn’t precise, yet) would fail in comparison, obviously. But he needed something. He needed reassurance that he was real, that he was as soft as he looked. He hadn’t even been able to closely observe him yet. Only those slightly jerky movements he made when he moved and that bucked-tooth smile only calling attention to the slight pinkness of his lips. This was torture! More than torture. It was inhumane beyond reason. He could easily avoid getting caught by his brother when he was asleep. He hoped John was a heavy sleeper, at least.   
Immediately he picked up a game control and played a skateboarding game that had already been in the console. He hoped they would come out of the room. He hoped for something, anything. He heard his love’s laughter, it certainly wasn’t Dave’s, and the door opened, he was following Dave out of the door and behind into the kitchen. His heart stopped.  
“Oh, hey, what are you playing? Is that the unreleased tony-hawk game!?”   
He’d only just turned his head to look at the boy, address him maybe when his nimble body quickly plopped down beside him and watched the screen.  
“Oh, man. I read all about it on gamebro. Dave didn’t tell me you guys had it.”  
Move quick, brute! “Really? We’ve had it for a while now. You can play it if you want, I was getting kinda bored.” He tilted the controller slightly in the direction of the boy, glancing over at him. A smile had quickly worked its way to the boy’s lips and he made swift nods. “Yeah! Hey, Dave, I’m gonna play this with your Bro. You can get the food, or whatever.” Oh. He planned on playing with him? This was going easier than he’d expected. The boy apparently wanted to be interactive with his friend’s tall, blond, cool older brother. In one way or another.   
“Are you serious? Fine, whatever. Have fun getting beat.” His brother’s voice was too close behind him for him to be able to move unnoticed on John.   
He picked up the other controlled and immediately started skateboarding with the boy. He could easily get to the checkpoints and make rad tricks while sneaking glances at the almost hopping movements the boy made with his controller. His eyes planted on the screen and his teeth gnawing at his bottom lip when trying to make a land. He was getting really into the game, more than him and his brother ever did. But that kiddish attitude that zest that behavior and attitude, it only made him want the kid more. Which was terrible to say. The childlike behavior of a child is what attracted him, so? It was so much more than that. His face in profile with the blue screen light, the bright blue eyes focusing on the screen while two full thumbs worked at a controller. He’d gone way over his record time but managed to beat the boy anyhow.   
A piercing ring from behind broke the defeated sigh the boy gave at his loss. “Uh, Jade is calling me? I’ll be right back.”   
“Yeah.” John’s face turned now, his smile and eyebrows working to be jokingly intimidating, “Another round.” Oh, my baby, oh, my love. Yes. As many as you’d like. Whatever you would like. Anything and everything for you, my love. My soul, my love. My money, my love. My life, not, not my life. You are my life.


	5. Chapter 5

The game resumed but his thoughts only jumbled and bundled. How could he be patient? How could he resist his one true love when this might very well be their only opportunity if all didn’t go according to plan? He couldn’t. His gaze only moved back to the softly shining bottom lip, seemingly protruding under small teeth. The glow of the television was becoming less and less apparent as his focus shifted more and more to the boy. He still didn’t lose. “Hey, that was a good one.”  
His John smiled a bit at the comment. Goodness, that smile. He raised his hand slightly as an indicator of a high-five and the boy gleefully responded, their two vibrantly differing hands clashing together a much lighter than intended. The strong calloused one (half gloved and barely able to touch the other’s hand with his fingers), and the still soft pale smaller one meeting for a second that felt like eternity. The second had to be lengthened; he wrapped his hand around John’s and held it for a second, feeling its warmth and swallowing the tingle his skin gave him, before setting it for a fist bump and turning back toward the screen. The boy didn’t seem to have taken it any bad way and lifted his feet onto the futon. Stretching them out so that they almost touched Bro’s thigh. Oh, now he was being teased. The world was laughing at him and attempting to destroy him through this boy. It’d only be a matter of time for Dave to walk in. He couldn’t do anything. There wasn’t time, and he couldn’t control his heart.  
“I wonder what they’re talking about. Hey, has Dave every told you anything about Jade? Like, if he likes her?”  
He felt his eyebrow twitch upward slightly. Why did it matter what Dave did? Or who he liked. John shouldn’t even care. But he supposed they were friends, and friends wanted to know things, “Nah. I don’t think so. I thought you’d know.”  
“No. Dave always acts weird about that stuff, when I ask him.”  
“Hmm. You like him?”  
The boy’s cheeks hardly inflamed and he gave a little scoff, “Totally. Dave’s great and all but I don’t really like him like that.” He knew, somehow, that Dave wasn’t his type even before he asked the dammed question. This boy was so obvious. Dave had mentioned his taste for cheesily horrible taste in movies. He had looked into them and looking at the boy it was painfully obvious he liked the manly main-character type. However jokingly manly they tried to be. Luckily Bro himself was a bit of a manly man. His sharp cut jaw and broad build had him held among the “stars” in appearance. He could surly manipulate the situation. How could a child resist the influence of something they admire? Although he’d have to test this theory in order to make sure he wasn’t being too narcissistic about the whole situation. Sure he was clean cut and young, still significantly older than the boy, but it could be that this was all in his head.  
Go for it. His face leaned in to the boy’s, a small memory of a smile lingering on his lips, his voice making out the words steadily, clinging onto them for a little too long, “Then who do you like?”  
This. Oh, this. This was his sign. The pale cheeks suddenly grew with colour and his eyes stayed on the dark glasses only for a moment before looking away. “I…I don’t know. Hah.” This was an indication. It could be. Or it couldn’t be. No, it had to be. It absolutely had to be. His feelings were the same. If only somewhat. “I see.” His face pulled away and he sat back against the futon.  
Dave came back a minute later, leaning in between the hopeless admirer and his love. “This game pretty much sucks. End of story. I don’t know why you’re so excited for it. It’s like—“  
“Whatever. I thought it’d be cool. And it kinda is.” John set down the controller and stood up. “Anyway,” He emphasized on the anyway to sound like a jerk. It sounded wonderful. “Are we still gonna watch Starsky and Hutch?”  
“Duh.”  
“Ugh. That’s so lame. We should watch Ghostbusters 2. I brought it. What do you want to watch, Bro?”  
Dave interrupted swiftly, before the man could even answer to the invitation. His love for the boy only seemed to grow. “He’s not going to watch it with us. Are you?”  
“I don’t know. Maybe. That a problem?” He rose an eyebrow.  
“No. I just didn’t know. Ok, so what are we watching?”  
“Oh, how about Failure to Launch! It’s ridiculous. And ironic?”  
Bro nodded, he honestly didn’t really care what they chose. He wouldn’t be watching much of the movie. Or any of it, probably. He’d be too busy watching something else.  
“Ok, fine. But only so I can cry every time you laugh at something that’s not funny.” 

The movie played and Bro’s mind immediately blocked it out. The boys had sat on the floor in front of him, so he could see every fidget, giggle and movement john made. His little quirks and silent scoffs of laughter he made dragged him in like a sea. He was flooding in the boy. This wonderful boy. This beautiful boy. He watched until slowly he and Dave started to lean back and get more comfortable, flipping through Netflix (he wasn’t sure how long the movie had been over) and slowly fell asleep half slumped and mouth open. How late had it been. Had they forgotten he’d even been there? How late was it? He hadn’t taken his eyes off John for what seemed like forever, and when he made fake glances elsewhere when the angel danced his eyes upon his face he still felt his real mind floating around John. He didn’t even notice he was in the crawlspace watching through a thin crack in the opening until he felt himself nearing safety to act. He was like an animal, eyes on prey and body moving with thoughts from the back of the mind that directed him to safety, while he made sure to slowly trap the smaller being with his eyes, lest he run away. The whole thing was calculated from inside. His body was commanding him in a way that his mind and heart were not. But he had to act quickly, his beautiful prey could awaken any moment and he’d be left without a meal.  
He made sure he was quiet while he stepped down, his movements still rather quick and sleek, but his heart pounding in a way he didn’t know before. It was beating in a way that seemed to pull him to the boy who caused the sensation. The little sun neglected prince who’s cheeks were flushed a blotchy pink colour. The tousled hair and open mouth of hot breath while he slept seemed too angelic to be allowed of a human. Of any being that could have eyes laid upon it. His hands were lingering above his cheek at once he slowly removed the gloves so as to come somehow closer to the warmth that radiated off him.  
He could have this boy, now. However he pleased. His brother was right next to him. He surly wouldn’t wake up. He would carry John over to the other room and fondled him softly and gently while he slept. Careful to not wake Dave up with the screams of his friend. He couldn’t be sure John wouldn’t scream if he woke up to that. He could muffle him, maybe, with his hand. Whisper to him it’d be all right and that he knew he couldn’t tell anyone or they’d both be in trouble. John wasn’t that young, but given the situation, fear and smaller physique he might comply. He could only touch him now. He could only outwardly admire the wonderful creature happy in his wonderland of dream. His fingers moved to lightly trace the slope of his hot neck, slumped against the futon his face lay resting, at this he had to stop a moment to readjust the discomfort growing in his pants. Outside the vicious fabric he attempted to give gracing friction, stopping himself every so often. His knees soon lay planted on the ground, beside the sleeping boy, a hand so close to his disgustingly clothed knee. He wished to just take that hand up and hold it against his hardened self, only to see the unreasonable gratification it alone would give him. The boy’s cheek lay pressed against the cushion squished to give him a more baby angelic boy look. A shota look.  
He couldn’t take it. He had to hold the beautiful boy in his arms. His hair so dark and contrasting against his skin, now flooded with blood in select areas that turned the skin pink and reddish. He had to feel his lips pressed against the warm thin neck, so bare and inviting. The boy moved in his sleep and the man’s heart quickly stopped in fear. A false alarm like that could surly kill someone! Had he been anyone else he might’ve dropped then and there. A glance over to his brother quickly, out like a rock. Thank goodness. He had to steal his honey quickly. His hands had moved over, to hold, softly, the boy’s shoulders while he leaned his lips in. Into the curve of his neck, lips pressing against skin so soft, so inviting, moving them over to the boy’s jaw, just below his earlobe. He felt movement under his lips and under his hands, only the grace and honour of a few kisses allowed to bury themselves into his skin. The boy’s arms had lazily and heavily swung over bro’s neck, sleepy murmurs and a bit of a giggle managing out, his neck leaned upward and a disgruntled “dumb” came out from below. Eyes opening for half a second before closing again and a smile coming back to the lips that had surprised Bro so much. It was when that Bro had moved his lips directly between where his neck ended and clavicle began that John had let out a semi-sharp, still mostly dreaming breath that Bro could feel John inviting him in beyond belief. He felt his love pooling low in his groin and begging to touch the skin itself. But the boy’s hand quickly moved and swatted Bro away, “Noo.” He couldn’t risk the boy waking up completely. Small affectionate dream-confused kisses were one thing while him jerking his hips angrily at any piece of naked body he could manage was another. This wasn’t safe with two little boys in the house.  
“Ok.”


	6. Chapter 6

He couldn’t sleep most of that night. He sat and watched John sleep for only a few minutes, making things worse for himself in the long run.  He went back into his room before long. The aching in his groin still unsatisfied by the time he woke up in the morning. He fumbled with his thoughts most of the night, getting only a few hours of sleep in the end. By the time he got out of his room the boys were both awake and presumably in Dave’s room.  The plan was going awry but he’d at least gotten to inhale the closeness of John. The intoxicating aroma of youth, sweet sweat and innocence. For now he was innocent. The little innocent boy whom no one would find out had his innocence so violently yanked from him from the wealthy Mister Strider. A surprising end to a tragic story. He hoped to god that John didn’t remember a thing. The boys scuffled out and into the living room after Bro had mopily pushed around his cereal breakfast. He met John’s eyes for only a moment before John blushed and looked away. Did he imagine that? Could he have remembered? Was he awake? No, no, he couldn’t have been. If he was he surly would have yelped or pushed or something of that nature. Could it be that the boy was interested as well…?

  Both boys had their shoes on and John had his overnight bag snuggly fit on his back, the straps holding onto both shoulders. He looked like a lovely little school boy…maybe he could convince him to wear a uniform one day…A ring sounded and pierced his inappropriate forming thought. His phone. He answered quickly with only a glance at the name.

“Hello?”

“Yes, hello, Mr. Strider, It’s John’s father. I was wondering if maybe you and the boys would like to come over for a bit, I’ve made a cake.”

Was this man serious? He was straight out of a movie on how to be a cheesy (but still dapper) dad. “Oh, sure, what time would you like us over?”

“Oh, an hour or so. If that’s fine, of course.”

“Yeah. I’ll see you then.”

“Good-bye.”

“Bye.”

Call end.

He couldn’t help but smirk a bit, “All right, we’re going to John’s house.” Luckily he’d performed his morning rituals with great care to-day. His hair perfectly gelled, his stubble shaven clean and smooth, his hat sitting on the table. He stood up and grabbed his keys, “Hop to it, boys. We’re going over to Egbert’s for a tea party.” 

“My Dad invited you guys over?” John’s voice sounded small, although laced with interest.

“Yes.” He looked at John through the corner of his eye while he opened the door.

“Neat.” He saw a smile from on John’s lips and couldn’t help but to feel a drowning sensation in his heart. The beating faster than the wings of any bird or bee. In fact his beating was so precise he was sure it was mechanic.

As soon as they’d arrived at the Egbert home the boys ran off into John’s room. Alone time with the father could not, and would not hurt at all. They talked and hours had passed, the boys not even bothering to come down as the two grown men shared stories and became more acquainted. He could kick himself over how easy it was to take advantage of this man, but he would rather not celebrate now. Everything was still unstable. He’d taken his shades off and exchanged meaningful glances at the father, commenting on how well put together he was and gushing about his every step, move, word. He flowered the man with compliments in ways that seems as subtle as could be but hinted at more. He could see the man barely even flustering at all, instead hurdling back the comments with sincerity and thanks, or pushing them aside with a slight smile. What a close shave, he noticed. The man obviously knew his way around a razor. He commented on that. The Father answered with “practice makes perfect.”  They sat there and Bro’d even had some of the cake, he could admit it was actually very tasty although harshly sweet , nothing like his little love’s tip-toeing sweetness that lingered long after he had left the room. The closeness had been established. The man seemed to trust Bro more now. How the world favoured the desperate, it seemed!

This man was tallish and gentlemanly in behavior, extremely tolerable and even-tempered. He was surly a great father and his appearance was not repulsive at all, but he could not rise a grain of attraction for him. He attempted with effort but the father was only handsome. He almost made himself leap when imagining his young John the man. The resemblance there, not without effort. He couldn’t find the will or the way to act, not now.  He had to muster his courage, it was not that terrible. The situation could surly be worse. Bro pushed a bit and managed to get himself and Dave invited over again for another day, soon. Mischief was managed.

The days that passed felt like years, he had found himself walking out to watch for other little boy-children frolic roughly with their fellow fauns, teasing and running, some walking and quiet, but overall quick unhaulting skids and skips. Their movements so unintentional and silky he couldn’t help sigh while watching. But none could replace John in his heart. His little vessel of perfection too perfect and prim to ever be replaced. It had been almost a week or so until John came back to visit Dave. He couldn’t really expect him to come over every day, especially not on weekdays. But when the little one came he realized he had been holding his breath and he regained control of his lungs. Those big eyes moving from Dave to Bro and lingering, he smiled and gave a wave. My love, my love, my love. Could you have missed me too? He wish the boy was younger, or at least more childish so that he could rush up to him and hug him unabashedly , then to be greeted with the same kind of embrace. He’d be allowed to touch that soft skin, those thick locks and that small rear without a second thought. He could already imagine the huff he could steal with only that imaginary embrace. He stayed for a while but he sensed his brothers distaste for him just standing there while they played. He hoped for another sleepover, and hopefully soon.

 

Not soon after the boy had left their house he received a message from the boy’s father inviting them over tomorrow for a small bonding barbeque in the backyard. His throat caught in a fit say no but he could only hear himself mutter yeses, and he would be there. A chuckle, what was that? Oh, right, _they_ would be there. It was a good mistake, anyway. The father would take it as eagerness, as he obviously had. The man was a delight as a person but he was such a man Bro was sure he would be rough in places and tainted with experience in others. His squarish jaw, worn, happy eyes broad shoulders tall build were all wonderful in their own way but he couldn’t really feel himself pulling any desire for the man. However if it would somehow help him steal caresses and sighs from his John he’d go through with anything and everything. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is very short but i've got loads of exams to study for. Thank you, again, for the support. Updates will /hopefully/ be more frequent after a few weeks! And I do mean FREQUENT.


	7. Chapter 7

Thoughts of any and every kind stopped as he found himself back at the door, his little bro beside him. His fist moved for a knock and the man was at the door in moments, a pipe lit and in his mouth while he greeted them in. The smoke was high enough to float in through good old Bro’s nose and gather in his lungs for brief moments before he exhaled, and luckily didn’t manage to get into Dave’s lungs.

Little limbs were sprawled out on the couch, toes wiggling and face deep in a book labeled Wise Guy, sadly concealing the lovely rounded face. Bro could feel himself sigh as the apparently agitated boy gave a small grunt at his Father’s pats (his Father who was now behind him, silently prodding him to greet his guests). The book was down and he managed a smile, gracing them with the most politeness he could muster before setting the book down and standing to greet Dave chummily. Oh how it made him jealous. Dave was greeted with hugs and touches, as nonchalant as they were, while he was only given nods and the occasional heart pattering smile or “Hey”. This couldn’t be fair. In all honesty the barbeque was a bore. He managed another date as he so courageously called it with the Father and little was achieved except for when the boy began to strip in front of him.  John tugged away at his clothing leaving himself only in small black underpants dotted with little green slime monsters. He felt himself shudder and he felt a lump in his throat. The boy didn’t even turn back, but he knew that Bro was there. Goodness, his father didn’t even pay attention and Dave had revealed himself already. But his little John shifted his hips slowly as he got his shorts down (which was his favourite part, he looked somewhat like a dancer). His Father flipped burgers as if nothing was happening. Dave sat in the kiddie pool with an unfazed look on his face. The weather was not excruciatingly hot but he could feel a sweat gathering on his forehead. He yawned quietly and stretched, his eyes still on the boy, now standing in the pool with both hands on his little boy hips. The angel sat on the grass with his feet still in the pool, allowing water to spill and Dave to mumble a “Hey,” and John to snort a “Sorry.”

The day was over. The boys had had enough of each other and there was little Bro could do about it.

They went home.

 

 

The night was a sickly moist and he managed to get into Dave’s bed without Dave’s approval, once they were home. Dave grunted and pushed Bro away lightly,

“It’s hot, what are you even doing. Ever heard of personal space? You’re doubling the heat and you’re up in my grill.”

“Yeah. I’m starting some sick fires with my heat, right? Enough to char a steak on your grill.”

“Sure. What do you want?”

“Nothing.” He got off the bed and left Dave’s room. He wasn’t even sure what he was doing. He didn’t remember if he’d even spoken to Dave all day. Had he? Probably something, they couldn’t have really gone all day without talking. He’d been too busy thinking to pay attention. Which wasn’t a shame since he had gotten so much done in his head. He felt his body still warm with the thought of John’s creamy skin. He only sat on the futon for a few minutes before sitting on the countertop and pouring himself gin and pineapple juice into a Big Gulp cup. He mumbled quietly to himself as he drank. That little boy, that little boy. Oh, that boy. His love, his life. The bane of his being, his heart and his soul. He could imagine himself touching that unclothed skin, almost. Almost…

He continued with his drinking, pouring more into the plastic joke. His soft, clean, sweet love. He could imagine the sweetness of his mouth and neck prancing on his tongue teasingly and he gripped at the countertop. That face, unbearably sweet and fresh while he was stuck in the warmth of his own household. He set a cube of ice he found in the freezer on his tongue and permitted himself to shutter. The taste of alcohol lingered on his tongue while thoughts of touching that dulcet boy began to jumble in his mind. Tanned cheeks heated and flushed before he set the empty cup on the countertop. He felt a roaring fire in him, in his heart and loins the same.

 He walked quietly and bumped into a bothersome wall once before sneaking into his brother’s room. He heard a quiet snore and felt himself taken aback by his brother’s slumber, Honing in on a vulnerability and youth. It wasn’t the same as John. But it was close. He slithered into the bed and laid beside his brother, glasses set aside somewhere. He kept a fix stare, a drunk stare. His eyes weren’t all that straight, he could feel it, but his mind lent his vision a softened lens of view. His brother breathed out of his mouth and gave an occasional snore. It would have been strange on any other occasion but he couldn’t manage to care. He put his body close to the smaller’s his mouth leaning in to his neck, pulling the smell of sweat and grass into his nostrils. His lips settled on Dave’s hardly defined jaw and his hands worked to fondle him lightly. He was sure his brother would wake up but he only let out a few inaudible mumbles. He almost wanted him to wake up. He wanted a response. His hips moved to press against Dave’s thigh and he allowed the clothed flesh to brush against one another. He promised himself he wouldn’t do anything of this sort to his brother. The touch of his skin still made him a bit giddy, but overall looking at his brother made him sick. His mind had almost completely shut off and he could feel his hips moving steadily against the small thigh. His brother was a heavier sleeper than he thought. He’d only made himself harder instead of granting himself any type of release. He couldn’t feel the brutality in his actions begin to rise but he felt the irritation in his soul peck at his brain. He unbuckled his pants and pulled himself out his boxers, handling his hard-on while he watched his brother drool from the corner of his mouth, his features softened to just the right amount that it almost resembled john’s through the blur of intoxication, the faint light somewhere outside and the need held in his leathered palm.

He worked himself quickly, pressing his alcohol stained mouth against Dave’s neck while his eyes remained glued on his face. The burn of his gloves on his shaft compensated, to him, for the treachery that was unfolding. His breath quickened and his eyes stayed fluttering over the young blond’s  hardly lit complexion.  His breathing increasing and his mouth parting from skin, the warmth radiating off his own boozed up body making Dave shift uncomfortably. He lent his member a touch against the bare skin at dave’s lower back, his face flooding with warmth at the unrelated sigh Dave let out, a few more touches against him and he would reach a point of ecstasy. His hips twitched forward and he let his forehead press against the back of dave’s head in fit of carnal enjoyment. The pleasure soon receded and his hazed vision cleared up, if only slightly. He tucked himself back into his pants and bit down on his lip. He’d have to clean this before Dave woke.  


	8. Chapter 8

Cleaning the literal mess was easier than attempting to clean the mess of his failing morality. The disgusting and frilly feeling of disappointment and dread ran deep, but he managed to cope quickly in an attempt to hide the fact that what he did was breaking his own promise to himself, rather than sneakily steal the innocence of his slumbering sibling. He managed to find his way to the futon soon after the incident, he sat, only sat with a hand in his hair while the flush from his face slowly drained out.

He was horrible, was he not? He was the worst. He deserved death, or, worse, he deserved to never see his one love again. That would be agonizing! No one could deserve such a cruel fate as that. No, no, he would calm himself down. Dave didn’t know what had happened so no innocence could truly, knowledgeably be lost. He fought an oncoming urge to grab his gin again. He wasn’t much of a drinker, but then he wasn’t much of an incestuous creep either. Or that’s what he used to think.

He lay on the futon, hands drooping off the side finger tips hovering above the floor, then, touching it’s smooth surface upon occasion. An obstruction in his finger’s path allowed him to find his phone on the floor. A text message prompted up quickly. He looked at it for a minute before setting it back down on the floor. It was the eldest Egbert inviting him over for coffee.

Of course he’d go.

 

 

 

With stars looking up and redemption starting to flow he went out with the Egg. Bert. Egg-bert.  He wasn’t horrible. He really was not, he was a wonderful man filled with Humour and Kindess but he just didn’t suit with him. Coffee and chat. Coffee and chat.

Time bore uselessly until he saw himself with his little one again. He had been out at a friend’s and came back moody from over-excitement and with a strong resentment to the cake filled scent of the house. He shuffled his feet into the parlor gave a huge wiff and scrunched his face up like a pug. “Do you _always_ have to make cake?” emphasis on always.

“There is a guest over, John. I’m not forcing you to eat the cake.” Deep voice, calm.

“Yeah…Hi, Bro.” A wave before he began the climb up the stairs, he had to make him stay.

“Dave told me to tell you Hey, and ask when you’re coming back over.” He did not. But the boy stood on the stairs and gave a small grin, “When he stops being so lame,” The father shook his head slightly as though that was a rude answer, “that’s when I’ll go over.” Bro gave a smirk and replied “I’ll pass the message.”

The worst was that he felt it was worth it. He felt as though all the effort and leading-on was worth those few exchanges he could manage with his Little Love. He would go to the ends of the world and back to earn a smile, a snort-filled laugh, a glance into his eyes, into his soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't updated in so long and it's made me feel terrible. This has been in my drafts for a while and I thought it was better than nothing. Also thanks for the comments!! I am still passionate about this ship and idea but my time has been consumed by unknown entities. If you're still reading this thank you so much!! xx


	9. Chapter 9

He was planning to leave. Big Egbert just offered a drink (not so much bigger than him, in size, he had an inch on the elder). Then it was another…then another…It just happened so quickly. That is a lie. It definitely did not happen SO quickly. Not quickly at all. That saying was never understood by Bro. How could one completely lose control? Even in the pits of apparent passion and staring straight into the other’s eyes, the dewy colour captivating him in its similarity to that one perfect young boy’s. Maybe passion was too strong a word. But urge certainly did take over to an extent. Both men fumbled into The Father’s room groping at each other, The Father with more enthusiasm. Bro just did what he had to. The similarities to the man’s son were surprising and lovely but they were just that. Similarities. That stubble wasn’t his Love, those strong gripping hands were not his Only, that gruff voice and the smell of tobacco weren’t his Dear. But the entire time he couldn’t stop thinking. What if the boy heard them? What would he think of him? He would certainly hate him for doing unspeakable things to his father. Or maybe he was still too naïve to even assume anything… he was overly aware of the situation and unaware all at the same time. He noticed every placement of the man’s hands, but he didn’t quite remember at what point they got to the bed, every small hesitation or hint of nervousness that the man presented was instantly recorded into his mind, but after each tune-in to reality he checked out to think about something else, mostly his Dear one. But also of the repercussions to his current actions. He didn’t stop moving, acting, sighing, grabbing, but he also didn’t feel any of what was going on until a few moments to his peak. His mind cleared for a minute to relax into the bearing grip of the elderly man before a small grunt and sigh had released at his release. He was probably a terrible human being. 

A single stream of light entered through the corner of the window, the blinds missing a small crack and shooting sun rays into his eyes. He hadn’t even called Dave to tell him he wouldn’t be coming home. He felt terrible. He completely forgot. It wasn’t too early. But it was early enough that he would be able to leave without John noticing. As a father Bro would have assumed that Mr. Egbert would have made him get home immediately to his child. In fact, he was certain Mr. Egbert didn’t know Dave was all alone or he wouldn’t have let him over. He was quite certain that was the type of father this man was. Bro slid quietly out of the bed, pulling his shirt over his head and sliding his pants back on, his glasses slid back onto the bridge of his nose and he held his hat in his hands. He wasn’t completely sure how to do this. For one night stands it was protocol to just walk out and call later, if that. But was this a one night stand? Would the Man take offense to that? This was the love of his life’s father. He couldn’t just leave. Right…? He had to be nice, gentle. He leaned in, “Hey, Hot Stuff.” That felt so wrong to say.  
“Mm?” was the man’s response.  
“I gotta hit the road, get back to Dave. But I’ll call you.” The man nodded and replied with a yes, of course and a small wave of his hand and smile into the pillow.   
Ollies out.

The rays of sun that shone through his window when he woke up for the second time that day almost stung his already lightly tanned bicep with their heat. Dave was fast asleep when he got home but a video game was still brightly gleaming the word “pause” on the flat screen in the living room. He immediately went back to bed so as to scoot the night under the proverbial bed of his consciousness. When he finally woke up the night was a distant memory, a purposefully neglected acknowledgment of a dream. Thinking about what he did wasn’t necessary at this point, it was what he was going to do that had him twisted with vile joy. He could use this to his advantage. While he chewed away at leftover pizza and flipped through a Game Bro copy mindlessly on the futon he could hear his little brothers shoes stomp quietly on the hardwood, the barely audible shuffles, the attempt to be…ninja-like was screaming in his ear. He knew Dave wasn’t being quiet because he was sneaking per-se but it had become a subconscious habit to think it was necessary to stifle himself. 

He looked over at Dave from the corner of his eye, the young boy had just exited his room for the first time this morning, and was in search of anything edible. The pizza looked unappealing, and he almost made a face of disgust, the mountain dew was flat. The boy was about to give up, his lean against the counter said it all. Bro watched his movements. It felt like he hadn't seen his brother in ages. He wanted to say “morning” or something but he was scared he would break the younger’s flow, the kid-ish annoyance on his face was to die for and he could bare part with it yet. Dave opened a cupboard and the weapons stayed in place. Shocker. A cereal box stood at the top shelf, just out of the blond’s reach. The smirk that crawled onto Dave’s face was quick and brief before he let himself take action and reach up. His arm was outstretched as far as it could go, he stood on his tip-toes with his teeth slightly shone…He could almost reach it…almost…he let out a soft grunt and dropped the box with his fingertips into his other hand. Bro swallowed a piece of pizza still in his mouth, dragged his eyes away, and decided he needed to take action and figure out how to get John into his arms immediately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it is short. Forgive me. I'm trying.  
> I'm in love with this pairing. I'm in love with Lolita. This fic can never REALLY be dead unless i am.

**Author's Note:**

> This is almost like a swap-out of Humbert Humbert and Dolores Haze in Lolita by Vladmir Nabokov. There will probably be various similarities. I wanted to explore this route with BroJohn but i don't know if i'll continue.  
> Probably a lot of grammar/spelling errors.


End file.
